At one of the busiest corners of the city center, where people hurriedly moved between the bakery, the pharmacy, and the bus stop, an old man crouched at the edge of the sidewalk. Uncle Sanyi – as the locals called him – had been sitting in the same spot every morning for months. The stained blanket over his shoulder was as much a part of the cityscape as the bus stop or the trees along the road.
His face was lined with deep creases, his hair was gray but thick, and he carefully combed it back as if trying to preserve a bit of dignity.
“Good morning, Uncle Sanyi!” – a passerby would occasionally greet him, mostly older people. They still remembered that he had once worked as a janitor at a nearby high school and always had a kind word for the students.
Uncle Sanyi, however, did not respond. He would only nod and sink back into his thoughts.
One Wednesday, as the sun broke through the clouds and the city’s dust shimmered in golden light, a young woman stopped in front of him. She was barely over thirty, the wind blowing her long brown hair back, and she wore a brown leather jacket that didn’t quite match the spring season. Uncle Sanyi later learned her name – Eszter.
Good afternoon, sir,” she addressed him in a firm but friendly voice.
“Good afternoon, miss,” Uncle Sanyi responded cautiously and looked at the stranger.
“May I invite you to lunch?”
“Lunch?” he asked, suspiciously.
“Yes. I know a good place just around the corner. They have a good soup and they don’t ask any questions.”
Uncle Sanyi looked at the woman. She seemed neither mocking nor pitying. Just… curious. And friendly.
“I don’t have any money, if it comes to that,” he murmured.
“I didn’t ask for any,” Eszter shrugged. “I just want company. My boss thinks I eat alone too often.”
That made the old man smile.
“Well, if that’s all, then I suppose I’ll come,” he said, slowly rising.
The small restaurant they went to radiated warmth. The checkered tablecloths, the homemade scent, and the loud “Good afternoon!” from the waitress reminded Uncle Sanyi of a world he had long buried inside himself.
“Two goulash soups, and for dessert, two palatschinken,” Eszter ordered. “Do you like them?”
“I’ve always liked palatschinken,” the old man nodded.
“How long have you been living on the street, if I may ask?”
Uncle Sanyi looked out the window for a long time.
“Four years. But I’ve really been alone for only about a year and a half. Before that, I still had a basement where I could stay. Then they tore the house down.”
“And your family?”
“My wife died ten years ago. My son… he went abroad. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Eszter nodded. She didn’t pity him, didn’t sigh in sympathy like others. She just listened. And that opened Uncle Sanyi’s heart a little.
“I worked as a janitor at the high school. Do you know it? The yellow building behind the church.”
“I went there eight years ago,” Eszter smiled. “Were you the one who always gave the hungry students apples?”
“That was me,” the old man laughed — for the first time, truly.
The scent of the soup now filled the table. The waitress brought the order, and Mr. Sanyi sighed deeply as he tasted it.
“It’s like home,” he said. “Like my Marika’s cooking.”
Eszter wasn’t in a hurry. She allowed the shadows of the past to slowly creep out from the corners.
“Why don’t you seek help?” she finally asked quietly.
“Because I’m not used to asking. And when I did, all I got were promises. But you can’t cook dinner with promises.”
“And what if I help you? Not with promises, but with actions?”
Tears welled up in Mr. Sanyi’s eyes. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at the young woman.
“Do you think it’s still worth investing time in an old man?”
“It’s not a wasted time. I’ll pay back the apple,” Eszter replied softly.
In the following days, Eszter came back to Mr. Sanyi almost every afternoon. They didn’t always eat together – sometimes she would just bring him a coffee, a warm sweater, or a fresh newspaper. But the most important thing she always brought was attention and patience.
One day, she sat down next to him on the curb and placed a folder in front of him.
“What’s this?” Mr. Sanyi asked suspiciously.
“An application for assistance, a referral for a medical examination, and a request for a transitional shelter. I’ve filled everything out, you just need to sign.”
“You did all this… for me?”
“Everyone needs someone to set the avalanche in motion,” Eszter replied. “Now it just needs to roll.”
Mr. Sanyi looked at the papers for a long time. His fingers trembled as he took the pen in his hand.
“This is more than I’ve received from anyone in the last ten years,” he said quietly. “Why are you doing this, Eszter?”
The young woman lowered her head.
“You know, when my parents divorced and my father left, I couldn’t trust anyone for a while. Back then, an old janitor always used to tell me: ‘Girl, life never gives you what you want, but what you can endure.’ That was you.”
Tears filled Mr. Sanyi’s eyes.
“I didn’t know you remembered me.”
“I’m just giving back what I received.”
A New Address, A New Life
The bureaucratic matters moved faster than expected. Three weeks later, Mr. Sanyi was already living in a clean, warm room in a transitional home for seniors. A bed of his own, a wardrobe, and – what was particularly new for him – his own mailbox.
Eszter gave him a small radio and brought him a new book every week, picked out from the secondhand bookstore. The man slowly began to trust people again – and also to trust himself.
One afternoon, the janitor of the home stopped him with an envelope in his hand.
“Mr. Sanyi, you have mail.”
Mr. Sanyi frowned. He wasn’t expecting a letter from anyone. The envelope had a foreign stamp.
With trembling hands, he opened it. The handwriting was familiar.
“I don’t know if this letter will reach you, but if it does, please forgive me. Many years have passed since we last spoke. Back then, I was angry and blind. Now I’m a father myself. I understand.
A friend saw your name on a list from a charity organization. If it’s really you, please write back.
I want to see you.
Ádám.”
Mr. Sanyi sat still for a long time. He didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he just stared at the table as if the world had given him something for the first time that he hadn’t dared to hope for.
In the evening, Eszter visited him as usual.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Sanyi?” she asked immediately.
“I’ve received a letter from my son,” he said, handing her the paper. “He’s alive. And he’s looking for me.”
Eszter nodded quietly.
“Then it’s time to write to him.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say what you told me on the first day: ‘I have nothing to say.’ The truth is always enough.”
Epilogue – The Bench in the Park
Two months later, on an early summer day, two people sat on a park bench. An older man, in a clean shirt with combed hair, and a young woman, laughing as she listened to him tell stories.
Across the park, a young man approached with his small son. The child ran to the bench.
“Grandpa!” he shouted, throwing himself onto Mr. Sanyi’s knee.
The young man walked slowly closer. Eszter stood up and made room for him. Ádám nodded silently and sat down next to his father. They didn’t need to speak. The embrace, the presence, the moment – that was answer enough.
Eszter quietly walked away, watching from a distance as Mr. Sanyi slowly regained what he had lost – not money, not a house, but the most important thing: human dignity.
